Running in Dreams
by Mousewolf
Summary: Running is like flying in dreams. It's easy when you remember the why and the how, and you never need know the what or the who  unless you want to. What is paradise but that which we make for ourselves? Post Canon. Rated for mild language and themes.
1. Chapter one: White ice in the street

**_A/N: Wow, my first chaptered fic in - what, nearly a year now? - over here, at least. I've got the first four chapters of this absolute monster__done, and the fifth seems to be growing with no intention of giving up. It may evan have to be a two-parter. le sigh Sometimes, I hate my brain. Okay, this might not be a particularly original idea, at least intially, but give it a chance, okay? If I even get the damn mutt finished, I promised all will be revealed. Okay, onto chapter one - Memory, Coffee, Rain; otherwise known as why I should never try to write Kiba. Enjoy!_**

**

* * *

**

RUNNING IN DREAMS

_The dusty bones of broken buildings, bloodscent in the air_

_Watch for the glitter of nothing gold, and sense the memory tear_

_Running in your dreams to a place that can't be found_

_Reeling in the vertigo of what isn't sky, but can't be ground_

_See your story stretching back _

_Snow and ice and dust-worn track_

_Take care to change to a different tack _

_When all you know still fades to black… _

**Chapter one - Memory, Coffee, Rain (aisu)**

"_Off through the new day's mist I run  
Out from the new day's mist I have come  
I hunt  
Therefore I am  
Harvest the land  
Taking of the fallen lamb…"_

- Metallica, 'Of Wolf and Man.'_  
_

_The white wolf was howling. It hurt. Everything hurt._

"_Cheza! Cheza! Where are you?" He was bleeding from a dozen different wounds, and he had feeling that at least four ribs were broken. "Cheza!"_

_It was dark but there was a faint light up ahead. He took a few steps forward, then hesitated. _

_There…there was something wrong. Something he needed to remember…_

"_Kiba." The light was growing brighter, now – so bright that it hurt to look at, brightest white tinted with lilac. He knew that voice. "This one is sad that you are not happy."_

"_What?"_

"_Find the others…"The place was darkening again now. "Find the others and you will find yourself."_

"_Cheza!" He finally found the strength to move, and bounded after the dimming light, but it was too late._

"Cheza!" Kiba gasped awake in his tiny bedroom, with the rain hammering on the window pane outside. He blinked blearily at the clock. It was about 7:00 am, and on a Saturday. Urgh. How long had he even slept?

After a about half an hour of staring at the ceiling, he decided there was no use whatsoever in staying in bed, and hauled himself out of bed. He checked his pager - there weren't any emergencies at work, not that they'd inform him anyway – before dragging on his old jacket and going outside, into the rain.

_Why does it always seem to be raining, here? _He wondered, peering through his already soaked hair at the stoplights before crossing the street. A few other pedestrians were giving him odd looks because he didn't have an umbrella – in this city, it was like wandering around without a shirt – but getting wet was something that had never particularly bothered him.

He stood under the awning of the 'Pawprints' café, and shook himself off like a dog before entering. He'd always privately thought was a pretty dumb name, but they did good service, and it was so close to the flat that he could never be bothered to go elsewhere.

"Hi, how are you? What can I get you today, sir?" Someone asked perkily as he slumped into the nearest booth without looking up.

Rummaging in his pockets half-absently, he answered, "Just a coffee, please. Black, no sugar."

"Sure thing! Coming right up!" He felt the server bustle away, and finally found what he was looking for: a few scraps of paper and a pencil stub. Now, if he could just recall that dream…

Ten minutes later, Kiba groaned and put his head in his hands. It was no use. All he could remember was a few random images – a white wolf, blood, and a soft light. He took a sip of coffee while staring at the few doodles he had. It made no sense whatsoever, but he was sure it was meant be important.

Someone had turned up the TV behind the counter. _"And in other news, the notorious criminal gang known simply as The Claw pulled off several devastating raids on high class establishments in the Lowell district of the city last night, leaving three civilians dead and others injured. Two gangsters have been, luckily, taken in for questioning. Police InspectorYaiden has issued a statement saying that any guests of such places must keep their valuables close at all times, and that security will be tightened by over forty-three percent. Rumours that the gang itself is in turmoil over the recent spate of daring raids are as yet unfounded, but…" _He tuned out. The only thing news like that meant to him was that there would likely be more jobs at work - maybe they'd even take him back. People were more likely to hurt themselves from panicking over such things than from the actual events. He went back to staring at the drawings.

"Hey, those are really good. Are you an artist?" The server was back with his bill, and was peering over his shoulder at the rough sketch of the wolf.

He looked up and coughed out a small laugh. "No, I'm a paramedic. Aren't you a little young to be working here?"

The kid wasn't much older than fourteen, Kiba guessed, maybe fifteen at most. He looked oddly feminine, as well, with a chin-length bob of mousy-brown hair and a slight, delicate frame. Then he somewhat ruined the image by wrinkling his nose defensively.

"I'll be fifteen in May, and it's not like I'm actually getting paid or anything. I'm on vacation and Granny lets me work here because I've got nothing better to do." he shrugged. "Anyway, if you're a paramedic, shouldn't you be out, I dunno, paramedicking?"

"I'm on leave." Indefinitely, he stopped himself from adding just in time. The kid was a total stranger – you didn't go blurting out your lifestory to total strangers. Still, there was something familiar about him…

"_Toboe! How many times must I tell you? Stop bugging the nice customers!" _A sharp, if slightly age-cracked voice echoed from somewhere in the recesses of the kitchen, effectively derailing Kiba's train of thought.

Toboe made a face, then called back, "Sorry, Granny! Keep forgetting!"

To Kiba, he said, in a low voice, "I'd better go. She gets cranky when I don't do what she says right off. But the coffee's on the house, just this once, okay?"

He straightened up and grinned brightly. "Maybe you could come 'round and show me some more of your pictures sometimes? Our flat's just above this place."

He nodded dumbly, and the kid was gone in an instant.

"_Find the others, and you will find yourself…_" 

He started, and turned around. There was someone else in the booth behind him. "I'm sorry, did you just say something to me?"

The sandy-haired man shook his head, mystified. Kiba shrugged and left some change on the table (He didn't want Toboe getting in trouble. The kid was weird but clearly well-meant, and Kiba already found him likable, in an odd way) before walking out into the rain once more.

Just another ordinary day.

* * *

**_A/N: Once the day is over and done, the night and the twilight too, _**

**_The cub and the wolf returned to their holes, you may find find time to review._**


	2. Chapter two: Grey ash in the ruins

**_A/N: Tsume's chapter. Starting to wonder if anyone's listening out there..._****

* * *

**

Chapter two – Nature red in claw, at least (kaijin)

"_Some say you're trouble, boy  
Just because you like to destroy  
All the things that bring the idiots joy  
Well, what's wrong with a little destruction?"_

_- _Franz Ferndinard, 'The Fallen'_  
_

_The grey wolf was on the hunt. There was blood in the air…_

_There was blood. Was it his own? Or something else's? He could see it, sense it. His whole body was aflame, every nerve ending on fire. He fancied he could feel the cold night air stirring every hair on his pelt. He was looking for someone… _

…_the runt. Where was the runt?_

_Something stepped on a twig ahead of him, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the gloom. Eyes that were somehow _wrong_ glinted at him, blue steel and brass, and he growled, the sound reverberating though his body, and leapt at them. _

_There was an answering snarl and a sudden numbness in his side. He felt his teeth sink into cold darkness and – _

Something, or someone, prodded him.

Tsume leapt into wakefulness, knife in hand, pinning the intruder to the floor. He could feel a pounding pulse under his knuckles, under the sharp barbed blade. His 'attacker' gasped weakly for breath. "Boss?"

He cursed under his breath and stood, allowing the boy to rub his neck and scramble to his feet. "Why are you in here? I thought I told everyone not to wake me."

"Well, Kuro said that they had something from last night's raid you might –"

"Fine. Get out." He rubbed the back of his own neck. The kid looked uncertain, and hesitated.

"But –"

"_Out!!_" He snarled, and the little red-head scampered. He flopped back down on the ruined sofa and put his head in his hands.

"Some dream." He mumbled wryly. He side was still numb, though – must have been sleeping a weird position; he touched it, gingerly, just to check he hadn't actually managed to scrap himself on a bit of metal or something, then a sudden image bloomed in his mind's eye – bright blood, red as

(redasthemoon)

berries flowing from a mess in his side over his black leathers and onto white snow.

_What the hell? I must be going crazy. For one thing, blood doesn't show up on black that well anyway._ He thought, stretching, yawning as wide as cat, before going out into the hallway. He could hear the rain clattering on the roof and plinking in the empty cans and other containers scattered around the hideout – an huge old abandoned building, all rotting concrete and mouldy wood – there wasn't a door or window that still had glass in it, but they were all stuffed with rags except at the sentry posts, so it wasn't too bad. Still, Tsume swore quietly to himself as yet another leak dripped from the ceiling directly on to his head. _Damn rain. I hate getting wet. Why is it always raining in this stupid city? It's a wonder we all haven't been flooded out like rats by now. _

The few gang members scurried past him, muttering greetings without looking up. They were scared – honestly, he couldn't blame them. He'd been pushing them to more and more reckless raids over the last weeks, simply to see if he could. He'd be highly suspicious if they weren't frightened and angry over his sudden change in pace, especially since losing five of their number to the cops last night – three dead and two captured.

A burst of raucous laughter informed him where the majority of the group were, and he stalked into the dilapidated living room to find the noisy

(damncrowsscavengingmykills)

crew howling with laughter at something on the tiny, cracked TV positioned on a crate at the far end.

Upon seeing him, one of the gang members leapt up, grinning. "Tsume! We thought you were gonna sleep the day away…"

"I would have, if some dumb kid hadn't woken me up. What is it, Kuro?" The rest of the room had gone mostly quiet, now most of the attention had been drawn away from the TV.

Kuro coughed a semi-nervous laugh at the 'dumb kid' comment, then motioned to two other gangsters standing by the small anteroom (believed to have been originally a storage cupboard) to bring their struggling bundle out. "An intruder, oh fearless leader. After last night's loot. We were gonna deal with him ourselves but something he said made us think you might like to take a look at him. See, the trick is that guy thinks he's psychic."

"Really?" This could be interesting. He ignored the sarcasm lacing his subordinate's first sentence, and motioned, almost imperceptibly, with one hand. "Ungag him."

"Mmf mm mm-mmf!" Protested the prisoner, flinching as one of the crooks cut the gag away with a sharp knife. Huffing in breath, he repeated, "I'm not psychic! I never said that."

"Liar," sneered Kuro, flicking his own knife open threateningly. "I oughta –"

"Leave it." The gangster ignored him, taking a step towards the still-bound young man – he was probably in his early to mid-twenties, Tsume guessed, but the plumpness to him made him appear younger. He repeated the command, growling, "I said leave it, Kuro."

The russet-haired man looked challengingly into the scarred one's strange, molten gold eyes. He managed to hold the unblinking gaze for a full minute before having to look away, grimacing. "Sorry, boss. Won't happen again."

"I'll believe it when I see it." He nodded, then turned back to their captive. "Okay, so what did you say?"

He shrugged as well as his bonds would allow, mop of tawny hair bobbing. "I'm just a cook. I can smell what people like best, is all."

That provoked a roar of derisive laughter from the gang, all of which were now otherwise listening intently. Tsume, however, raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Okay…Ursa, here."

Ursa was a huge mountain of a man, perfectly built for breaking down doors – when the lockpickers failed for breaking and entering, it was usually Ursa doing the breaking. He didn't speak much – talking was too much of a strain on his mental capacity. "Yur, boss?"

"Stay right there. Right, then, what does Ursa here like, porky?"

The captive managed to struggle half to his knees, then fell on his side once more, to another ripple of hilarity. He grinned up at Tsume cheekily. "It'd be easier if I could stand up."

The white-haired man's face didn't so much as twitch. "No. It's bad enough you can open your trap."

To his slight (very slight) credit, the dark blonde looked (very) mildly contrite, then glanced up at Ursa, sizing him up, sniffing the air. "Fine. Alright, I bet you're normally tagged as a sushi man, aren't you? Either that or rare steak. But what you really like, after a long hard day, is one of those little poached duck-eggs, with maybe few well-done curly fries, and a nice cold raspberry daiquiri if you're feeling down. I am I right?"

Ursa blinked, slowly. Then, like sheet-ice breaking, he nodded. "My girlfriend makes good daiquiris."

A look of relief passed over the chef's features, and he again struggled to stand. A slight head-movement from Tsume and his bonds fell away, and he brushed himself off with the air of one with other places to go.

If the gang leader was amused, he didn't show it. "What's your name?

The other looked up. "Er- Hige."

He stared at Tsume, as though he had only really just seen him, wary and tense all of a sudden. "Can I go now, or do I gotta be killed 'coz I know where your place is?"

A muscle tightened in the taller man's jaw, and he considered, briefly, allowing his gang to have some fun with this chef – his talent was unusual, granted, but not so much as to override his sheer maddening personality – but something old and forgotten stirred and told him to spare him, just this once.

"Go." He nodded, minutely. The crowd parted like the red sea. "But if you say a single word, or if I see you again, you'll regret it."

Hige couldn't leave fast enough, scurrying out of the door like a dog with its tail tucked firmly between its legs.

His gang was staring at him. Tsume ignored them. "Suri, Gulo – watch him. You know the drill – if he so much as opens his mouth about us, kill him then report back, got that?"

The two slight, quiet individuals, one sandy-blonde and the other black-brunette, nodded in unison and disappeared.

He walked out of the room, then once he was out of earshot, leant against the ragged wall and swore softly, running a hand through his hair and sighing as loud as he dared.

He couldn't keep this up for much longer.

* * *

**_A/N: You've heard of the jingle, _**

**_You should now know what to do -_**

**_Now that I've written and you've read, _**

**_Please read and review!_**


	3. Chapter Three: Spirit in the home

**_A/N: A brief dedication to my sole reviewer, lizy3333, who is reading this faithfully even if she's not familiar with the fandom. Tell your friends, liz! I am grateful to those loyal to me...(Mwahahahaha)   
_****_Right, onto Chapter Three: In Which We Learn Kiba's Character Can Be Even Worse Mangled. _****

* * *

**

Chapter three – Domesticated (kangae)

"_Count your blessings count them one, two, three  
Don't give up 'cause it'll all work out  
It may seem like a strange cup of tea but  
If it's all right with you, it's just fine with me…_"

- Sister Hazel, 'Strange cup of tea'.

_The copper wolf ran._

_Running over ice floes, cold crunching between his claws, freezing wind tearing his fur into points. He was alone. _

_Where was everyone? Warm fur, playful teasing and nips. White as the snow around him. Greyer than the iron storm-clouds on the horizon. Gold like the weak sun above him. _

_He couldn't _see_, it was so cold. Blinding whiteness squared him in on all sides, great expanses of nothingness, frozen and lonely as the end of the world. _

_The end of the world? Why was that so familiar? _

_There was a peak of ice ahead of him, and a bellow sounded far behind him, the roar of something huge and old, dying a painful death. When he reached the tip of the ice, he howled, long and loud, howling for anyone, anything. _

_Howling a challenge to the lonely world. _

A small weight landed on Toboe's chest, and he cracked open an eye to see the white furry face of his cat, Shiro, _wraow _insistently and lick his nose, provoking a sleepy laugh. "Ergh, Shi, stop it! That's gross!"

Her tongue was too rough. It didn't feel right at all.

He grabbed the half-grown feline around her waist and tucked her against him, rolling over and squinting at the clock on his bedside table. "What time is it, anyway?"

The cat squirmed and launched herself off the bed and out the door, tail high. It was nine-thirty. Toboe rolled back again and buried his head the pillow. It was Sunday morning. Too early on a Sunday morning.

There were cooking noises coming from the kitchen, just down the hallway in the medium-sized flat he shared with his Grandmother above her café. The boy lay in bed for another ten or twenty minutes, before deciding that he wasn't going to go back to sleep, then jumped out of bed, and wandered along to the kitchen, sticking his head round the door. Granny was already up – she was usually awake before eight or so, no matter the day of the week, cooking and baking all sorts of things for that day or the next.

She took a bowl of batter and put it on the small kitchen table without looking up. "Put some slippers on, dear, or you'll catch your death."

Toboe looked down at his bare feet. How did she do that? He went and grabbed a pair of shabby blue slippers, then plonked himself down at the table, pulling the bowl toward him and sniffing at it curiously. "What's this, Granny?"

"I'm trying a new mix for berry pancakes, dearie. Could you possibly beat it for me, please? These old hands are a bit full at the moment…" She drew a batch of what looked like brownies out of the oven, and began to slice them up with a large knife. The boy watched her bustling, flower-print-clad back for a few seconds, then warily put a finger in the bowl to taste. "…and don't do that."

He froze, and withdrew his hand. He wanted to poke his tongue out, but he didn't dare. He settled for wrinkling his nose at her still turned back, then went and got a wooden spoon out of the drawer and started to fold the thick mixture.

A several hours passed, without remark. The pancakes were agreed to be a success, and would almost certainly be put on tomorrow's breakfast menu. Toboe got dressed, fed Shiro and let her out onto the roof. Granny let him scrape out the brownie-bowl.

At about three o'clock, there was a knock at the front door. The boy looked up from a book, and frowned. Granny stuck her head into the living room. "Could you get that, dear? It's probably just a salesman or some silly thing, but it pays to be polite."

Toboe nodded, went to the door, and opened it only to see the back of a dark khaki jacket and jeans topped by a mass of dark hair, half way down the hallway and moving walk-fast. "Hey!"

The guy with the pictures from yesterday morning turned, and the kid thought he saw a slight embarrassed tinge to the otherwise pale cheeks. "Er…hi?"

"Why did you just knock on our door then go away like that?" He took a step out of the door, semi-consciously. Open invitations were one thing that Toboe had always considered to be a bad idea, but this guy seemed nice. Really nice. Like he could be trusted. How that could be ascertained from five seconds worth of small-talk was a mystery to him, but still…

The guy shifted uncomfortably. He was empty-handed. "It's…kinda hard to explain. Listen, I know you've got no reason to let me, but could I come in for a moment? It's a really weird story, and I promise I'll leave as soon as it's done. I just need to get it off my chest."

The boy smiled and shrugged. Was that all? He was sure Granny wouldn't mind. "Sure! Come on in!"

He stepped back to let the other in, whose face less smiled than relaxed, marginally. "I'm Kiba, by the way."

"I know." Then he blinked and shook his head violently. "Sorry. Why did I just say that? Like my mouth suddenly got a mind of its own…"

The older man's smile widened, just a tiny bit. "That's sort of part of why I came to talk to you."

They came to the lounge-room, and Toboe perched on the arm of one of the plush, flower-printed armchairs, tucking one leg beneath him. Kiba stood uncertainly for a minute or two, then sat on the end cushion of the sofa.

Granny, apparently having heard their brief conversation in the hallway, came bustling in with a plate of cookies.

"Toboe, you naughty boy," she scolded, "You could have told me you'd invited this nice young man over and I could have made some of those oatmeal-raisins. But since you didn't we'll have to do with banana-chocolate-oatmeal biscuits. Those are okay, aren't they dear?"

This last was directed at Kiba, whose blue-green eyes widened, startled. "Er, yeah, they are. Thanks, Mrs…"

The old woman smiled, offering him the plate. "Nonsense dear, call me Granny, just like everyone else. Besides, in my personal opinion, there's no price good enough to pay for a well-told tale."

Now Kiba really did look trapped – it was obvious he'd only intended to tell the story to Toboe. In an effort to bail him out, the kid said, "Granny, haven't you got stuff in the oven? Won't it burn?"

She shook her head. "Of course not, dear. I wasn't born yesterday, you know." She turned back to Kiba. "Well then, dear. You go on whenever you like."

The poor guy sighed, bit his lip, then started talking.

"It all began – well, I think it's been going on a while. I suppose it started a few weeks ago, really. Like I told you, I'm a paramedic, and we'd been called to this hit-and-run road accident. The victim was this girl, probably about seventeen or so, and an albino, I guess, but she'd dyed her hair. Complete mess – how we managed to get her back in one piece is a mystery. But the guy who'd hit her was worse off than her, insensible, talking about ghosts and how she hadn't been there before, honest, she just appeared out of nowhere, like nothing he'd ever seen." Kiba snorted. It was clear he'd heard these kinds of excuses before. "The police did a breath-test on him, and sure enough, he was over the limit. But that's beside the point, I guess.

"Anyway, we loaded her up, but before that – this is where it gets weird – she said my name. I'm sure of it. The other guys didn't hear anything, of course, and she was so out of it that it's impossible, but I distinctly heard her say my name. After that, nothing was the same. She kept – I kept hearing her voice in my head, and having blackouts, like one moment I'd be about to get into the ambulance, then the next moment I'd be standing outside in the rain, soaking wet, or in the intensive care ward. I don't mind getting wet, but it was just really – weird might be the wrong way to put it, because it felt perfectly natural at the time. More than natural. It felt _right_." He glared at his audience, as though daring them to call him crazy there and then. Toboe only nodded, and Granny made a little shooing motion with one hand to say _go on, dear._ He continued. "So the long and the short of it was that I've really lost my job. They're calling it recuperation on account of me overworking or something, but I know I won't get invited back.

"And then, about a week ago, I started having these dreams. I can't remember them clearly enough to describe, but I know there's a wolf, and he's looking for something that he can't find –"

"Wait! I've been dreaming about wolves, too!" Toboe burst out, then looked confused. "Granny, a wolf's like a big wild dog, right?"

She smiled. "They're meant to be more than that, dear, but I think you'd better let Kiba finish, before he explodes."

The kid smiled back, sheepishly. "Sorry."

The corner of Kiba's mouth twisted wryly, then his brow furrowed. "It's alright, I guess. Is the wolf you're dreaming about white?"

He shook his head, crestfallen. "No, mine's a kind of dusty-brown colour. Like a fox, but way bigger, and more blonde."

"Right." He nodded, dark hair falling into his eyes. "Anyway, I've also been getting this feeling like there's something I'm missing. You even get that feeling where you go into a room to get something, but then when you get there you've totally forgotten what it was? It's like that, only deeper."

Then he leant back and blinked. "Wow, I haven't talked like that for- well, ever, I guess. It's not like me to rattle on like that. Sorry if I've bored you."

He stood up, apparently to go, but granny stood up as well, and pushed him back down with surprising strength. "Don't be silly, dear. Of course you haven't. Why, I haven't heard a story like that in a very long while. Now, if you're going to stay the night –"

"What?" Kiba stood up again, and managed to take several steps towards the door. "No, I have to go. I'll come by the café tomorrow."

The old woman headed him off. "Quit talking nonsense this instant! You can help Toboe make up the sofa, after dinner, then in morning you can tell me if you've had another one of those dreams while it's still nice and fresh in your mind."

"But I –"

"You just told us you don't have a job to get to. And I'd wager you don't have a pet or a partner, either." She tilted her head at him, scrutinizing him with shrewd grey eyes behind her large spectacles.

Kiba stared at her, torn between anger and exasperation. "No, but –"

"But no, no buts! Sit!" Helplessly, he sat. "Good boy. Now I'll make us a nice pot of tea. I'd bet that your poor throat's parched after all that talking."

He stared after her for a second or two, dumbstruck. Then he said, "Is she always like that?"

Toboe looked smug. "Yup."

* * *

_**A/N: You know the drill, you know what to do - **_

_**I've written, you've read, so time to review!**_


	4. Chapter Four: Earth in the Alley

**_A/N: MY COMPUTER DIED! I lost nearly all of this fic and had to re-write, which oh-so-seriously sucks. Anyway, this would be teh Hige's chapter, which I had had written for some time until my old laptop went crazy and ate it then died of food poisoning. Just ignore me. Also, welcome to my new reviewer, WiseAbsol, a rather big writer in the Pokemon fandom, especially if you're a fan of mewtwo. Which I am. And I will catch up on all her fics when I finish reconstructing mine. Oh, and cookie for the person who knows what show the quote's the theme song to._**

**_A/N 2: Gods, this sucks. I've been trying to upload this chapter for the last six months and this a-hole site kept going onto a blank page...grrr. Anyway, hope this works this time and apologies for the omg-massive delay. Enjoy!_**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Four - Hungry like a...(Daichi)**

_"That deck of tarot cards  
Won't get you very far  
There ain't no hand to break your fall -  
Well, I know what I've been told  
You gotta work to feed the soul,  
But I can't do this all on my own  
No, I know... I'm no Superman."_

- Lazlo Bane, 'Superman'

_The gold wolf's stomach was growling._

_Trekking through greyness, nothing in front of him, nothing to either sides of him. Crawling charcoal-sketch shadows behind him, shifting unnervingly, like looking at a snowed-out-TV-screen out of the corner of your eye. _

_They hissed and stuttered like fire on wet logs. The wolf's ears laid flat on his neck, and he picked up his pace, but it was like running in midair, or treading water. He started to try scrabble away, running as though all the hounds in hell were hot on his tail, but it wasn't doing any good at all. _

_They were gaining, scrawling-thick black lines on the nothing-grey backdrop. Itching, inching up like mummies or ghouls in a bad horror-flick. He stopped trying to move and tail down, ears flat, he started to turn –_

"Hige! Hige-san, wake up! Hige!"

He started awake, sitting up and whacking his head on the cupboard door. "Ow! What is it?"

The blonde, upside-down head of his current trainee, Mika – or was it Miska? – smiled brightly, but her large blue eyes were concerned. "You fell asleep, Hige-san. That's the fourth time this week. You've been overworking again."

_Yeah, going after that shipment of caviar we lost and getting caught by crooks can make a guy tired, _he wanted to say, but despite what most thought of him, he wasn't quite that flippant. Instead, he grinned sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, maybe I have. That raid on Friday…"

She pouted. She was very, very cute when she pouted. "Stuff like that shouldn't happen here. Why can't people just not be bad to other people?"

He was quiet for a moment, then he noticed that it was already dark outside, and frowned. "Hey, what time is it?"

_How long was I asleep?_

"About seven-thirty, Hige-san. I woke you up because I figured you'd want to take the first few orders at least." She studied his pale face closely. "Are you alright?"

Something rustled in the shrubs outside, most likely a bird or a rat. He twitched, then snapped, "Sure I am! Where's my apron?"

The girl looked scared at his sudden outburst, then recovered, smiling faintly. "It's around your waist, Hige-san."

"It's what- oh right, thanks."

Four hours, fifty or so meals, and around thirty satisfied and suitably impressed customers later, the maitre'd of one of the finest and most exclusive restaurants in the city walked home, alone. He'd sent Miska – or was it Mika? – back to her own place; it wasn't unusual for her to wind up in his bed of a night, but he wanted her safe.

A tree branch shook against the wind, and he shivered, pulling his coat tighter before hurrying on. His apartment was only a few blocks away. Luckily, he reached his door without incident; only the intense feeling that he was been watched.

He closed all his curtains before he even considered getting changed.

After fixing his own meal, he slumped down on his chair and turned on the TV. A sitcom flicked up and a canned audience started to laugh. Hige cupped his chin in one hand and leant on one of the worn arm-rests, staring off into space. _They could've killed me yesterday…why aren't I dead by now, again?_

He'd seen enough TV shows to know that as far as logical plots went, he should've been dead and lying in a white chalk outline over his own dried blood in some back alley somewhere by now. Normal crooks didn't let you live just because…why?

The phone rang over the TV's noise, breaking his thoughts, and he started like a spooked deer, nearly knocking his chair over. He waited, frozen to the spot as the phone rang twice…thrice…four…five…six…seven times before stopping. After a second or two, he allowed himself to relaxed marginally, sinking back into his seat.

The invisible audience on the TV broke into hysterical laughter once more, and he bit his lip annoyance, changing the channel a few times – a soap, a wildlife documentary on dogs, and a pop music video by some male wannabe rocker – before switching it off and staring at the blank screen in exasperation.

Hige flopped down deeper into the chair, dropping his legs over one armrest and resting his chin against the other, and stared at the clock-timer on the VCR. It read 0:35. Maybe he should think about going to bed…

(_wolftreesbetrayerflowerclawfanghowling_)

The next time he opened his eyes, and it was 1:08, and there was a pain in his neck. He growled and rose, rolling his head from side to side and wincing as the vertebrae cracked back into place. Great, now he was too awake.

He looked outside. The night was clear, with a couple of clouds scudding across the star-studded backdrop and watching him with the semi-opened eye of the half-moon that hung in the sky. The street lamps glowed sullenly, as if wondering why they were there if no-one else was. Hige sighed and got his coat, stepping out into the cool breeze, a pleasant change from the humid, wet weather of daylight.

He wandered aimlessly for a while, liking the feeling of the silent streets and wondering at the change from the bustling, rain-filled days. After what must have been an hour of seeing almost no-one, something knocked over a dustbin, the clanging clattering noise echoing through the gloom, and he froze.

A girl with long, ragged red hair was sorting through the rubbish, her white robe stained and greying. He blinked a few times, scrubbing at his eyes, then relaxed marginally. Must have been a trick of the light, or something. "Hey!"

The fox leapt up, starting at his voice, stared at him for a second or two, and gave voice to a sharp, coughing bark that sounded almost like surprised yet very mocking laughter. Then she darted away, the white tip of her tail like a dying candle in the shadows. Hige half-heartedly waved a threatening fist in her direction, then slumped against a lamppost, rubbing his eyes. Maybe he really was too tired. He'd be seeing dragons and spirits next.

He took a step, and stumbled on a piece of rubble. Actually looking about him now, he realised what a bad part of town he was in – not to far from where he'd been caught by that gang, now he thought of it.

As if to augment his dawning fear, the angry roars of motorbike-exhausts tore up the night into ragged tatters. They were close, he reckoned – far, far, too close. He turned back and ran a few feet, before stopping again. The engine noises were in _front_ of him – at least it sounded more likely now, but the towering, crumbling apartment blocks threw so many echoes about, it was like trying to pinpoint individual waves in a stormy ocean.

He turned again and bolted down an alley – the same one the fox had gone down, although she was long gone. He nearly made it, then the brilliant buttery glare of headlights forced him back, half-falling, landing on his hand and cutting it on glass or some metal. He yelped in pain, and perhaps, ultimately, that was what gave him away. The shadows closed in both ends of the alleyway, laughing and yipping to each other like a pack of hungry jackals.

"Hey, Kuro, we've got a rat!"

"That's not just any rat; that's the lamb-chop Tsume sent crying yesterday, ain't it?"

"He to your taste, then, Kris?"

"Yeah - with a bit of barbeque sauce over an open fire!"

"But I reckon tall dark and leathers let him off a bit too lightly, wouldn't you say, boys?" Grinned the nearest shadow, over the ensuring hyena-laughter, and Hige felt the icy tip of a knife-blade under his chin, forcing him to look up into crazed eyes, slightly bloodshot even in the faint light. "And since he's not gonna be around for a while," continued Kuro, hissing the words into the other's face, causing him to gag at the unappealing scent of the gangster's breath, "I say we teach you how to really howl."

"Heh, no thanks, I'm already pretty good at it." Hige scrambled back a little further, shoulderblades digging into the grimy wall as well as they could. _Great. I'm gonna die in an alley in the middle of the night._ With that thought in mind, he proceeded illustrate his spoken point by screaming for help at the top of his lungs, until a sharp kick to the stomach cut him off.

"Shut it, piggy! Did I give you permission to squeal?" The knifepoint pressed harder into neck, breaking skin, and he was hit hard enough across the face – for good measure, he supposed - to taste his own blood and for his head to bounce back against the brickwall. He lolled, stunned, barely hearing the command of, "Go check if that drew any attention, now!"

He heard the sound of running, then engines roaring into the near distance. After a second or two, he tried to move, only to be dragged up by his hair, against the wall, and Kuro's horribly grinning face was pressed into his own.

"Now," he smirked, "What, I wonder, is the most painful possible way for you to die? Breaking bones is slow, but I'll probably get too bored by the time the others get back. Hmmm…bleeding? But from where?" The knife shifted to his stomach, the unarmed hand taking its place holding his neck. "Ripping out your guts could be fun. If you don't have a heart-attack and die before you can watch, that is. Or maybe…" The knife moved lower, and Hige made a small noise that he would later testify as definitely _not_ being a squeak.

At any rate, both of them were far too occupied to notice any peripheral movement or noise, so they were equally surprised when someone behind Kuro said, "Hey."

The gangster relaxed his grip on Hige enough to turn, his mouth open in shock. The rather stupid expression didn't leave his face a moment later when he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Tsume wrinkled his nose, kicking the body and snorting in disgust. "Always leave some security, dumb bastard."

Hige felt at least ninety-per-cent certain that the other guy wasn't addressing him, and so kept quiet in the vague hope that he wouldn't be noticed. Naturally, this hope was in vain. A moment later, the white-haired gang leader looked up, eyes widening, before a small smirk graced his lips. "And I thought Kuro was stupid – you got yourself a deathwish or something?"

Hige heard himself reply, but it was as though from a long way away. His head was spinning. Tsume coughed a small bark of laughter. "This is well known gang turf, porky. If you didn't know that then you're even more dense than I thought."

Then he shrugged – had the other been in full control of his senses he might have noticed that the movement caused him some pain and that the blood on his leathers wasn't Kuro's – then he shifted his grip on the knife, subtly.

He raised the weapon to deliver a blow, just as blinding white light flooded the alley and an authoritive female voice barked, "Drop your weapon and put your hands on your head!"

Through wavering vision, Hige saw a Tsume comply and a figure that seemed to ring dim bells of déjà vu in his head stepped forward. Then what was left of his nerves finally gave and he fainted, falling to the ground through a well of black ooze.

* * *

_Tch, you've heard of the jingle, _

_You should know what to do_

_I've written, you've read, _

_So read and review!_


	5. Chapter Five: Dog in the Wastelands

_**Disclaimer: **If I owned this shit, would I be sitting here unemployed?_

_**A/n:** Urgh, it's been a long, long, long and convoluted eight months or so. Don't look at me like that, i'm just guessing. Y'all are gonna hate me so hard for writting a such a cliffie, but don't worry, I'll wrap it up. Eventually. But I'm definitely trying to get back into writting here a little, even got a collab in the works that I'll put up here in a little bit. Alas, it's not Wolf's Rain, though. You'll just have to see tight and see, ne?  
_

_**

* * *

**_

_**Chapter five - Rest for the wicked (Inu)**_

"_Rocks for my pillow and sand for my bed,_

_For better or worse, I left him for dead, _

_But two rivers to each other run, _

_Words that shook me like the kick of a gun…"_

_- _Laika, 'Black Cat Bone'

_There was something in the dark. Something…bad. _

_The black dog growled, her hackles bristling, staring into the shadows where something was shifting, rust-black against the night, and a shape that might have been another dog but was…was…not-right. _

_Bad-feeling swelled up as it turned. The too-sharp muzzle lifted to show too-sharp teeth in a too-sharp grin, and the creature began to laugh. _

_The bad-feeling increased._

"Inspector Yaiden!"

Yuki 'Blue' Yaiden jerked awake, nearly falling off her desk. "Wha'?"

The Chief was standing over her, arms crossed, and a look on his face that was mixed irritation, exasperation, and sheer gruff annoyance. "How well did you sleep last night?"

She made a face, straightening up and running her hands through her hair, and affected a careless shrug. "As much as you did, probably."

He scowled. "I didn't sleep at all."

_Crap._ She sighed, took a sip out her coffee mug, and immediately regretted it. It was now totally stone-cold, and tongue-numbingly bitter to boot."No-one slept, I'll bet. I guess –"

"Not an excuse." He growled, then his expression softened marginally. Not so much that anyone who didn't know him well enough would notice, but Blue knew her adoptive father as well as - better than - anyone else at the police station. "It's next weekend."

"Already? I –" She swallowed, but whatever she was going to say was quashed when one of the younger officers stood and ran over to Quent.

"Sir, I – there's- it's –" He was excited, stumbling over his words in his haste.

"Spit it out." The Chief snarled, any soft feelings fled once more.

The kid licked his lips, and composed himself. "We've located the Claw, sir. We got an anonymous tip-off, and the patrol group are on their way to pick him up."

"No!" Blue realised she was standing, and half the police station was staring at her. A muscle in her jaw tightened, and she turned to the Chief. "Sir, I've been tracking this criminal for the past year. Permission to call off black group and apprehend him myself, please."

His eyes narrowed, and he scowled harder. The answer was pretty clear. She tried to stare him down, but he stared back. She chanced a glance around. Everyone was pointedly looking elsewhere. Perfect. It was evil and underhanded, she knew, but if there was one thing that was Quent's big weakness; it was the Puppy Eyes of doom.

That what her adoptive mother - Quent's wife - had called them, part-jokingly. If Yuki (nicknamed 'Blue'- short for 'little blue-eyes' – because of it) and her 'little brother', Ruth, had decided that there was something that they really desperately wanted, it was he they'd go to. He couldn't stand two pairs of huge, pleading eyes staring up at him, much less one. Back in the present, she watched with a kind of childish triumph as his mouth twisted and his resolve crumpled.

"I should get you moved to another sector for this," He growled, then his head snapped up. "Well!?" He roared, "Get _to_ it, you mutts!"

The others scurried to do his biding.

About ten minutes later, a police van rolled, quietly as a car can, to a stop outside a huge crumbling concrete building – whether it had once been an apartment block, or an office block, or even a hotel (she thought with not a little irony – one of the raided establishments had been a hotel) it was hard to say, it was so far gone.

"This is the place?" Blue asked the three other officers with her. It seemed…almost too obvious. Contrived. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end in warning.

However, the others seemed to be having no such misgivings. One of them, a cop a little younger than herself, nodded earnestly. "Yep, that's what the guy said. Third floor, likely asleep. Eurasian male in leathers and white buzz-cut. The top-dog for the Claw."

Blue stifled a groan, and resisted the urge to bang her head against the side of the van. They already knew the description from the debriefings – if not, what CCTV footage they had of him was pretty distinctive – and this pup was all but bouncing up and down and wagging his tail.

"He's still dangerous," she reminded him and the other three, who looked about the same. _Glory, riches, and getting some poor chick into bed, that's all they want,_ she thought wryly. "A sleeping dog can still bite."

Another of them rolled his eyes. "Yes, _mom_."

As the three males sniggered, Blue shook her head and disembarked, stepping out into the cold night air and staring up at the building, hand resting on her hip-holster. The clowns tumbled out behind her. She wondered if their coffees hadn't been extremely Irish.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled again. "He's not there."

The boys stopped tussling long enough to stare at her. "What?"

"He's not there." She repeated. That much instinct told her. She'd learned to trust her hunches – they'd caught her enough convicts in the past. However, the squad Quent had sent with her (revenge for the puppy-eyes, she suspected) was barely past training, and it was a wonder they'd even survived _that_.

A second later, she was proved right, as a lean figure dropped out of a large complicated plane tree across the road and loped off into the shadows. Streetlight reflected off white hair, and she caught a flash of gold as he glanced back over his shoulder.

Blue cursed loudly, using a word she hoped that Quent would never learn that Ruth knew. Her squad stopped messing around and instead of a group of clowns, they now gave off the impression of a pack of hounds waiting to be let off the leash.

She issued her orders, and off they went into the darkness. In the silence that followed, she simply stood, eyes closed. Then, out of sheer impulse she went into the abandoned building.

There were signs of habitation everywhere – discarded wrappers, and crumpled coverings of varying degrees of thickness. Blue guessed that anything of real value had been taken when the place had been vacated, and she had no illusions of lying in wait for them to come back; maybe set surveillance on it for a day or two, but nothing serious unless they –

A muffled cry of pain of pain echoed from outside, dragging her out of her thoughts, frowning. She hadn't heard any engines. Surely even those clowns could take one man?

_Actually, probably not._ Great. Ah well – hadn't she specifically asked to go after the guy herself?

As if answering her question, brisk footfalls echoed outside and then there was another dull, angry thud – the sound of metal hitting flesh. Blue hesitated, then moved towards the noise, keeping close to the nearest wall, gun drawn.

The thin light of the streetlamps cast

_(wrong)_

eerie shadows as she took a few steps towards the entrance. Then a soft crunching noise made her turn, startled. The light seemed to glint off eyes and an earring of the same colour like strange will'o'wisps, and for a second it seemed to her that he spoke twice.

"_You're pretty good."_

"Not bad for a girl cop." The tone bore a great deal of the kind of grudging respect held between born foes, and he took a step forward. She raised the gun, aiming for the distinctive X-shaped scar on his chest. It was an almost perfect target-mark, and it struck her as odd that he wore it like a badge of honour.

He shook his head, a little. Blue wondered if his thoughts were following the same

(_iknowyouyourpack)_

route, then a small smirk chased any shadows away. "You won't kill me."

She nodded in agreement. No, it wasn't her job. She shifted her aim, tightened her grip, and fired.


End file.
